


Cuyin (Survivor)

by Clio_Codex



Series: Wandering Stars [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Jedi Civil War (Star Wars), M/M, The Mandalorian Wars: 3976-3960 BBY (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clio_Codex/pseuds/Clio_Codex
Summary: Malachor V was a turning point for many, the end of one war, the beginning of another.  It was a cataclysm that would echo for years.A short fiction exploring events prior to and during the battle of Malachor V.
Relationships: Alek | Darth Malak/Revan, Alek | Darth Malak/The Jedi Exile, Revan & Meetra Surik
Series: Wandering Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952851
Comments: 41
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my head canon...or one version of :). The great thing about KotOR is the relatively blank slate it gives us as gamers and storytellers. I've never actually played male Revan, but somehow he came out that way in this story...we'll see how that progresses. 
> 
> Given what relatively little we know in game, it is fun to speculate on what motivates these characters - which led to some backstory and an OC that don't contradict the games (for the most part) but may feel outside of "canon".
> 
> In any case, I've had fun writing and hope someone enjoys reading!
> 
> Always happy to hear comments!

In the beginning, there were three.In the day, they would run free, always together.Like all children in the camp, their games mimicked the work of adults; they sparred with sticks, learned to set traps for hunting, grew strong from long hikes and fearless climbing.At night, they’d curl up together by the fire like pups, listening to their father’s stories, feeling their mother’s hand running through their dark hair, safe and warm.Their father called them his stars, told them they would be warriors, great and powerful, the leaders of the clans.It was the story all fathers told their children as they drifted to sleep, but their mother knew it to be more.She brushed their hair from their faces as they slept, hoping that the cost of this future would not be too great, wondering if her choices had doomed them all.She said nothing of her worries.

When they were six and eight, raiders ambushed their camp while most of the warriors were away.When their father returned he found only one of his stars, the girl without her twin, alone by her mother’s corpse.He’d loved his woman and grieved her loss, swore vengeance by her funeral pyre.He thought his lost children dead.The girl who was left gazed into the fire, silent, knowing they were not, no matter what her father needed to believe.At night she cried into his shoulder, while he promised her to keep her safe and teach her to fight, to survive. 

The girl and the boy who were taken held tight to each other.For nearly a year they were moved from place to place and then finally to a city on another world, kept half-starved and beaten, told they should be afraid.Instead they learned to hate and started to forget. Even the language of their childhood slipped from their grasp, a new tongue replacing the music of the stories by the fire.Hating gave them strength, a resolve to live, and helped them escape.They drifted in the city, living among the other lost children on the streets.At night, they curled together, knowing something was missing, but forgetting what it was.Remembering the time before was a weakness that hurt too much, made surviving hard.

When the boy was almost ten and his sister eight, they were found by men in robes, men who promised a new life with warm beds, and safety. _We will teach you to use your gifts_ , they said.But first they had to leave behind all that had happened before, to learn themselves by new names. _It is good to let go of the past; you will heal and begin anew with us._ No longer could they curl together at night to whisper in the dark; they were made to let go the last faded memory of their mother’s hands and their father’s stories and the sister they’d left behind.Soon, even their names were forgotten.


	2. Meetra

They were two years into the war and Meetra was tired.It was hard to know if she’d chosen well. Kavar had begged her not to go, murmured pleas against her bare skin, _I’ve fought them, Meetra.Fighting them will change you.Stay home._ Dantooine.Was that home? It felt like there had been some other place, before the Jedi, but it hurt to try to remember.

But Revan - he was only Revan now in her mind - had asked.Her older brother, the one whose paths she was always chasing. _They are dying Meetra.We can end this_.And she had believed, had followed, because she always did. The Council had tried to push them apart, had worked to make them forget their bond, this last shred of their lives before, but they didn’t.He had always looked after her and would never lead her to harm.This was no different.She trusted.

Revan’s orders sent her away more and more; she had her own troops to command, battles to win. _I trust you Meetra_ , he would say each time she left, _fight well_.He kept Alek close, his right hand, Alek, who had become as much her brother’s shadow as she was.

She had once puzzled over their glances, the looks exchanged when they’d thought they were alone.But that was before they went to war; Revan had little time for anything but his plans these days.He would close himself off after their strategy sessions, leaving the rest of them to assure each other, _we are doing the right thing._ He meditated she supposed. 

In some ways, war was easy.It was easy to fight, to plan, to win;they were so good at it, she and Revan, like it was in their blood. But every death pricked at her, even the ones she didn’t know.She felt something in her grow heavy and weak, like the Force wanted to drain away, leaving her wanting and empty.How do you fill such a void?

Revan had gone again and she was standing alone on the bluff overlooking their current encampment.Causalities had been heavy in the last days, which meant she was unlikely to sleep, too many screams echoing in her head.Suddenly, he was there behind her, sliding arms around her, pulling her close, silencing the screams with his touch. _Alek._ They had always been friends because of Revan, but he had not come to her as a friend, not really.She felt him waiting for her to decide, his lips just barely grazing the back of ear.It wasn’t too late to laugh this touch off playfully.But if she wanted….

She wanted.She turned in his arms to face him, found her hands wandering up to his face, stood on tiptoe as he bent to kiss her.Before the war, he’d been known as flirt - not that they were supposed to indulge in such things.Everyone loved Alek; he was funny and handsome and charming.Always listened.Others were drawn to Revan and Meetra, too, but for different reasons.Revan because he commanded attention.Herself….well she wasn’t sure.

They were quickly lost in it.Meetra was not without experience and she thought maybe Alek wasn’t either.Hands quickly unclasped clothes between hungry kisses, fingers danced across skin, answering wanting moans.It was only after as she lay watching him sleep beside her that she realized they’d not spoken once; he’d never even said her name.If that meant something, she forgot as she found the sleep she’d been sure would not come.

They found each other often after that, but still exchanged few words on the matter.In his touches she could forget the screams and that was enough…for now.And there was no certainty that they’d have a tomorrow. War was like that. 

Revan said nothing, but sometimes his eyes glared, _betrayal_ , in the moments he didn’t wear the mask. _Who was betraying whom?_ He knew.She refused to think of it. 

After Dxun she’d wanted him badly, wanted to chase away all that death and blood, wanted to silence the whisper in her head, _you are a destroyer._ She said nothing, just stripped her clothes as he shed his, sucked and clawed at his flesh as their hips rocked together violently.But the physical release was no longer enough to quiet the screams;her sleep was restless even as Alek held her close.

_Malachor V will end it_.Revan’s plan was terribly beautiful, clever in its simplicity; the Mandalorians would not be able to resist the bait and would fall to the trap. _I trust you, Meetra_ , he’d said as he explained her part.Something in her wanted to run, to stop what would be madness. _There is more than this war, a threat on the horizon. It is the only way._ He and Alek had found something, he said, but wouldn’t explain more.She looked to Alek, hoping for answers or reassurance, but he was looking at Revan, because _oh, of course,_ looking at Revan like he should be looking at her. _Bastard._ She’d been a fool.

She thought maybe they were falling.

He was waiting for her answer. _You can trust me, Revan_.She spat the name, not meaning to, not really, turned and left.Alek came to her later and as always, she said nothing, just grabbed him greedily, peppered him with urgent kisses, fucked him hard.Because what else could she do against the dark of it all?It would be the last time she knew.

After Malachor, the screams in her head fell silent, burned out of her by what she’d done.There’d been another voice in the storm, calling to her, right before everything died.She tried not to think of what that voice meant. 

She went to them, Revan and Alek, told them she was finished.Told them the Force had left her, that she was dead.She would go back to the Jedi, let them judge her as they would. _Is that what you really want, sister?_ When was the last time he had called her that, _sister?_ Alek said nothing, wouldn’t meet her eye, looked only to Revan.

_Has it ever been about what I want?I don’t even know what that is._ Some _thing_ nagged at her, that voice she had heard, a voice from a memory of a fire, and stories, and another girl who wore her face. Revan would know. _It was only a ghost_ ; he asked her to forget and said nothing more.She left, tried to forget.

The Council was not kind, not even Atris who had been her friend and Kavar who had been more.She could not feel them in the Force, but didn’t need to; they wore their fear and disgust of what she had become openly on their faces.They cast her out. _Exile._

He came to her after, Kavar. _Where will you go, Mee?Stay here, I can help you._ She laughed at that.He kissed her gently like the broken thing she was.She laughed at that, too. _You would fuck me now, but you would not speak for me?_ War had made her harsh and crude. Or maybe she had always been that way.Shame burned on his face, the same shame she’d seen in Alek that last time. _I’m leaving._ And she did. 

She would wander, silent to the Force, for years.Exiled and alone.She heard only rumors of what came next, that Revan and Alek/Malak went to unknown places, came to back and went to war against the Jedi. That in the end Malak had betrayed Revan.That Malak himself had been slain.She had not felt them die, logical since she could feel nothing in the Force….and yet….she wondered.She remembered, too, the way they had looked at each other before the war, wondered if the Jedi were right about love in the end.

Part of her knew their story was not yet finished, just as she knew she would one day find the girl who wore her face. In the meantime, she would survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to others who have written a Meetra/Kavar pairing - don't know why, but it totally clicks for me that this was a thing and gives an added layer to their encounter in KotOR 2.


	3. Aoibhinn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know folks have mixed feels about original characters but...I enjoy them so that's what I wrote!

Hundreds of ships gathered in the space above Malachor V, nearly the full strength of two great fleets.There was a beauty to it, battle among the stars, tracer fire and explosions lighting the sky, too abstract and distant to associate with the death they caused, nothing like the bloody brutality of combat on the ground.She had known it would end here, but until this moment had not understood how, couldn’t have imagined what their opponent was willing to sacrifice for victory.

Weeks earlier, Aoibhinn had tried to voice a warning, first privately to her father who always listened because she was always right.But this time she could give no specifics, only the sense of impossible dread and death she knew would come, her gut knowledge that this was a trap from which they could not break free. 

His eyes wanted to believe her, this last daughter, not only because she was a talented strategist and skilled warrior, but because he loved her.But the enemy’s decision to rally their failing fleet above Malachor V gave them too tempting a target to ignore.The desire for victory and the lack of compelling evidence against action, made it impossible to heed her council. _I’m sorry,_ his eyes said as he told her he could not take what she sensed to the others.

Mand’alor’s commanders had gathered for what she knew was the last time; they, too, felt this was a final battle, but thought it one that would bring Mandalorian victory and glory.Many were there in person, while others winked in holographic displays around the table.She was at her father’s shoulder, _Fett’s shadow_ some called her, not to speak unless called upon. _I’m sorry_ , his eyes had said.If Mand’alor’s right hand would not raise concern with the plan, who else would take such a risk? 

Even without her sense, someone surely must see the possibility of the trap, must wonder why Revan would order his fleet to gather, such a sloppy plan to create an easy target.He was never sloppy.Nor were they normally.Was the scent of a crushing blow too intoxicating?Or…no, something was wrong.Another thing she could not name but knew with certainty. 

The faces around the table were varied; Mand’alor alone wore his helm.You need to see the faces of those you command, to see how the orders sat, to know who was loyal. She watched their eyes.Some wore faint questions but none asked.She wondered if she could reach out with her mind, push one to speak.No, she would not resort to trickery; if none would, if her father would not, she would say it herself.She had waited.

When the plans were final, she spoke, choosing her words carefully. She addressed Mand’alor, looking directly to where his eyes were hidden behind the mask, knowing he would see nothing but truth and resolve in her face. _Many will not leave this battle.Revan lays a trap.I do not yet understand how.He means to challenge you._ Let them do with those words what they would.They knew what she was, _Fett’s shadow_ , the one who saw things.Some feared what they did not understand; some respected it.That she could best most of them with her blades, helped.Still she had never spoken directly in this company of what she could do. There was uncomfortable silence.She could not see his face to know how the words fell. _So be it_ , he’d said.They were dismissed.

The end was happening.Revan had come to challenge Mand’alor and had won, taking with him the helm of their leader. When it was clear how that fight would go, her father had pulled her aside, gave her the order.He knew he was sending this last daughter, a daughter he loved, to her likely death, knew that she had been right. _I trust you.Fight well_ ,he’d said, a final good-bye.His eyes had said, _I’m sorry._

She did not like hiding, but was good at it, had easily concealed herself on Revan’s shuttle, waiting for her moment.The one called Malak was with him; she would have no chance against the two of them, so she waited, thinking for some reason of another time she’d hidden as a child, the time that had saved her life. 

Her father had said _any means_ , gave her permission to strike in stealth like a common assassin, but she meant to challenge him in the open.If he had honor, he would fight her one on one.If he did not, well, death comes to all.She’d left her armor behind to aid in her stealth, had brought only her beskad on her back, and the weapons at her waist that she knew would decide her fate.

When they had docked, she made herself known.Malak had drawn his blade and held it to her throat, but Revan had stayed his hand, or maybe he had lowered it of his own accord. Both looked at her quizzically, perhaps sensing what she was.Malak whispered another name; she thought of lost children. _Curious_.Revan had laughed and invited her to follow them to their bridge, to watch as the battle played out. 

On the bridge she watched the sparks and explosions of the battle among the stars. She thought of those that had gathered around the table, wondered which ships held each, knew the one that held her father. Wondered where the other was, the lost daughter.Wondered why Revan did not strike, did not answer at her challenge, just watched her from behind his mask. They had not taken her weapons; maybe they saw no need as she was little threat to the both of them together.

The Mandalorians had the advantage, would carry the day….except….Revan’s plan.She started to see it, the way they’d been lured here.She’d known it was a trap but only now saw what he meant to do, and that he’d sacrifice much of his own fleet to do it. _General Surik._ The face on the holo was so like her own. _Meetra,_ Malak had called her, but that wasn’t her name.Her head was buzzing with too many pieces slamming into place, her gut churned knowing what was to happen next. _It’s time_.The face on the holo nodded and flashed out just as she screamed _run_ with her mind, hoping to reach anyone, someone. 

She lunged, sabers blazing.Revan’s rose to meet hers.She was vaguely aware that he’d waved Malak off, felt something deep and dark calling in her blood, making her sabers faster, harder hitting.There was something on Malachor V that wanted her to listen, that whispered false promises of power and glory.

She was good with the sabers, as good as Revan, but he was far better trained in using the Force that flowed in them both. She wouldn’t win. Suddenly she felt tremendous screaming, a huge yawning void, tasted copper and ash.They fell to the deck.He must not have expected it to hurt like this, seemed caught off guard by the pain.She felt herself reaching out for the other one, the one with the face like her own, felt her burning and then gone, cut off.Now she was slipping, in trying to reach she’d gone too far, was falling into that dark, burning void.

A hand yanked her back, pulled her to her feet. _Run._ _Take my shuttle.Go._ From the bridge she saw the source of the screaming.The planet had gone black, pulled in both fleets in a crush of gravity, an awesome display of power. _Go._ She was six-years old again, watching her mother die, screaming because her sister was next, her brother’s voice, _run_ , as he reached for her sister’s wrist.And then they were gone and she had no choice but to run.

She imagined the eyes behind the mask, eyes she knew. _Run._ Aoibhinn ran.She would survive.


	4. Revan

He’d had a name once, before he was Revan, and a name before that, one the Council had made him forget.The blank of his life before Dantooine grated at him, a sore spot; he could remember sleeping by a fire, thought maybe he’d been loved.Only Meetra was left. They were fierce in their loyalty to each other, despite the Council’s efforts to push them apart. 

That she’d followed him to war, followed even his last command, was no surprise. That she had been broken….that he did not allow himself to consider.He did not tell her that he had seen the woman who wore her face, that she had come to kill him, that he had told her to run. 

There had always been more he needed to know.Maybe it was because of his own missing history, a childhood forgotten.The books of the enclave had some answers; he read more than he slept, his mind burning.At first the masters welcomed his questions, applauded his curiosity.Later they would begin to fear it, would chide him, _Beware your hubris, padawan, no one can know all things._

He sparred, too, welcoming that as a different sort of knowledge, marveling at the way the Force could flow, directing his limbs and sabers. At first he trained the most with Meetra, good natured battles that often ended with him winning and her trying to goad him to a rare smile.The masters watched carefully, mindful of the lingering bond they’d tried to break.

Meetra fought well, but it was in Alek that he found his match, someone who could best him more often than not, at least with their sabers.The others would come to watch, impressed by the display of skill and power, awed by the terrible grace of it all.The masters watched, too, faces thick with worry; great heights meant far to fall. 

Sometimes he and Alek would hike far into the plains that surrounded the enclave, to some private place to spar alone, letting themselves wonder at the burning in their guts sparked by the contact of their bodies as they fought.They discovered wrestling without sabers, neither naming why that held appeal.Besides, Jedi didn’t think of such things.

Alek smiled often, a broad, cheerful grin that helped make him so popular among the others, but for Revan there was a different look, one that first showed the day that he’d pinned him while wrestling.They’d both frozen, sensing some shift in the beating of their hearts, watched each other intently.Revan had smiled.It was a small thing, the merest curve of his lips, but he saw in Alek’s eyes what it did, felt the wanting thing between them, needed to have Alek always look at him so. _Wanting is weakness_ , something whispered in him, but it was too late to turn back.

Weeks later they were both sent away with their masters to investigate the rumors of Mandalorian advances on outer rim worlds.He did not think the Council knew, not the whole truth of it, but maybe they knew enough to be afraid.For a time, the thing between them was ended.

The Mandalorians advanced.He called for the Jedi to respond but was met only with, _wait, it is not our fight._ He remembered the young girl and boy who had been beaten and made to feel afraid, felt rage that others now suffered a similar fate.He led the Revanchists to war despite _wait and see_.

He knew Meetra would come if he asked. Alek would come even if he did not ask.

On Cathar, he found the mask; they all saw the vision, felt the violence of the slaughter that had happened in that place years before. _I will not remove your mask until there is justice_ , he had promised.He was only Revan now, driven by a singular purpose.Something else about the vision whispered at him, felt familiar almost, but he pushed it aside.

The Council still balked; the Revanchists joined the Republic army anyway.They became generals.

They’d returned briefly to Dantooine, one last effort to try to have the Council see the urgency of the matter, to fully commit the order to the cause.They still refused.Alek found him on the plains, in their place from years before.He remembered what had been between them here, wanted, but…he was Revan and the war demanded too much.Instead they walked.

War was changing them both.To be Revan was to always wear the mask, the robes, to stand alone above the others, to hear _master_ from those who followed.Alek had been captured and tortured by a mad Mandalorian, an experience that had robbed him of his thick hair, had brought anger to replace the once always present laughter in his eyes.He called himself Malak now, but Revan could not; doing so would be admitting a loss.

They’d passed the place dozens of times in their youth, never thinking much of it really, but now, something drew them.He was sure they needed to enter, knew there was knowledge here, knowledge he could use, would use. _There is great darkness here,_ Alek warned from his side. _If we go through this door, we can never go back._ For a moment, he hesitated, not for himself but for his friend, the one he knew would follow him anywhere. _He is a weakness_. Revan pushed the whisper aside and entered.

Alek was right of course, right about the danger, but Revan was sure he could manage the risk. Hadn’t Alek himself said that one must sometimes enter darkness to save the light?And so they went into the darkness, found the maps, found the promise of a solution to a problem that was only half clear.

Meetra had led them to victory at Dxun, if you could call such a slaughter victory.He’d learned to ignore the deaths though, saw only the way the pieces moved on the board, the clear path to his objective.There was something wrong in her eyes, he thought; the war was hurting her.But she, too, was now a piece on the board, a beautiful weapon to wield against enemies present and future.

He neglected too much, realized too late that his most trusted had turned to each other.

He wasn’t angry because Revan was above anger, just stated a truth, _She’s my sister, Alek_.Alek’s face was blank, but his eyes blazed and his voice broke, _Do you care, really, Revan?_ He did care, which was a problem, knew there was a choice to be made. _Weakness._ The mask hid his expression.He said nothing more.

Malachor V burned with darkness; he went because there were more things to know, because he needed to understand the greater threat that loomed.This war and the Mandalorian invasion were child’s play in the shadow of what was to come.The Republic was weak.The Council apathetic.Revan knew what he must do, what would be sacrificed. _There will be no turning back_.Plans were laid and orders given.

Malachor hurt.Maybe he was still just a man after all, one who felt all those deaths, knew what he’d caused, saw his sister broken, wondered at the other woman who wore her face.Still he was sure of this path, was determined to stop the darkness of the unknown as only he could. _No turning back._

Alek had stayed, had come to him after, had pushed off his robes and taken the mask. _You don’t need this between us._ _I will follow you, wherever this leads._ Revan had taken what he was offered, the thing he had badly wanted for so long, the whisper of _weakness_ lost in the touch of their bodies.

After, as they lay still entwined, he watched Alek sleep, heard the voice whispering again, _he is a weakness._ He traced fingers over Alek’s bare skin and thought, _I hope you do not break when we fall,_ but knew, not all survive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the details and dialogue here comes from the KotOR comics, specifically the bit about the Revanchists, the mask (and Revan's name), Alek's torture, and Alek's comment about entering darkness to save the light.


End file.
